Mine
by Jennifer Darknight
Summary: Dr. Cain and X found a mysterious pod outside Cain Labs, around a year after X was activated (and long before he joined the Hunters). Upon taking it home with them, X finds himself permanently bound to the Reploid inside. Omega / X, Alternate Universe / Timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Mine

**Fandom:** Megaman X / Megaman Zero

**Genre:** Romance

**Pairing:** Omega / X

**Rating:** R-18 / R-18 G for content. The sex scenes will be pared down and made much less explicit in this version (the completely uncut version will be hosted on my fanfiction tumblr), but there is going to be some pretty heavy violent content and imagery in later chapters, and...well. There's also the fact that Omega kinda likes the whole blood and gore thing. Let's just say you've been warned.

**Author's Note:** This is a sort of Alternate Timeline fic (not only in terms of Omega ending up in the past and meeting X's past self, but in terms of how Omega's Punishment at the end of the Elf Wars), with various MMZ series spoilers cropping up later on. Also, bits of this were inspired by Kidria's fic, "Through Glass".

**Author's Note 2: **The first few chapters are meant to have this 'dreamlike' quality, in vignette-esque moments that are tied to the coherent whole as you get to know Omega and how he adjusts to his new 'life' and X. The entire story isn't in this style, I promise!

**Summary:** Dr. Cain and X found a mysterious pod outside Cain Labs, around a year after X was activated (and long before he joined the Hunters). Upon taking it home with them, X finds himself permanently bound to the Reploid inside...

* * *

_"I think we should put him here." _

_ "Here? Are you insane? What if that thing doesn't open like yours did?! It'll break everything it touches!" _

_ "...Oh. I didn't think of that. Then I'll put him in my living space. I don't have much in it, so it shouldn't be a problem." _

...Those were the first words that he heard. Fuzzed, faint, but still altogether _there_, as though they were muffled by a door, or a window.

So annoying. Couldn't they shut up, already? The old man with the shaky voice, trembling with age, was bad enough with his whimpering and whining. Really, if that gentle-voiced brat wanted to do something, let him do it, if it'd get both of them to stop _talking_. He had half the mind to open his eyes and get up from where he was, maybe lash out at their throats-

-If he could move. Why couldn't he move? His eyes stayed shut, his body stiff, immobile.

And yet he could still _hear_.

Where the hell was he?

...Wait. 'He'?

…

Yes, 'he'.

He, whoever he was, was a humanoid model of male gender.

And he could feel rhythmic shaking, as though he was encapsulated inside something. Something that was _moving_.

If only he could move. He would have burst out of this...this _prison_, opened his eyes, gazed upon the trembling bodies of his captors, sank his teeth into their flesh, drank their blood and wrapped himself in their agonized screams. Those were the sorts of sounds he wanted to hear. Not this...this...

_Chatter_. Yes, that was a good word for it.

Besides, he didn't have time to be doing this. He had to-

-what? What did he even have to do? Why couldn't he remember anything?

_"It'll be all right, trust me."_

The warm voice was almost _laughing_ as he felt the hard thump of his...whatever it was being set down. If he cared, he would have at least been thankful that from the the feel of it, his carrier had at least tried to be gentle with setting him down.

If only he could _see_.

_"If you say so. If he wakes up, let me know." _

_ "I will. Maybe when he does, he can help us get him out." _

_ "Wouldn't that be the day! Whatever this pod is-"_

If he knocked on the side like that one more time, he was going to take _special_ slowness in killing him once he got out.

_"-I've never seen anything like it." _

_ "Maybe it's on a time-lock, like you said I was." _

_ "But when I found **you**, I still had to open you manually!" _

_ "It's possible that whoever built him just did things differently..." _

**They needed to stop talking. Now. **

_"Anyway, this was just a bit too much excitement for one day. I'm going to go to bed." _

_ "Do you want me to make you tea, Dr. Cain?"_

_ "No, no, that won't be necessary. Don't look at me like that! I'm mobile enough to get my own tea; I'm old, but I'm not going to be an invalid for a long time yet! Hahaha!" _

_ "Haha...if you say so. Good night, then." _

_ "Good night." _

Good. They shut up. There wasn't going to be anymore senseless _talking_. Maybe if things were quiet, he could think. Think about his situation, and maybe about getting out of here-

_"...Hey. Can you hear me in there?"_

Oh, for the love of—**NOW WHAT?!**

_"My name is X. It looks like we're going to be roommates for a while." _

...X.

The name sparked an internal snarl, though for what reason, he was unsure. Varied, conflicting emotions rose to the surface, but little else; his rage bubbled, and if he could, he would have wriggled and flailed against his bonds. He would have burst out of his prison, and-

_"You weren't too bothered by us carrying you around and prodding your pod, were you, Omega?" _

For a moment, his anger cooled.

Omega? Like the name 'X', it sounded familiar. Clicked somehow. He didn't know if that was his name, but he'd take it. Not that a name really mattered, but it was better than referring to himself without one, he supposed.

_"I don't know if that's your name or not, but that's what it said on the outside of your capsule. In any case...I'm sure you'll tell us when you're ready to come out."_

**Ready?!** He was ready _now. _What he would do for a chance to get the hell out of this, to go out, to do something other than sit and listen and be passive to some moron who was talking to someone who wasn't even responding, like he was some imaginary friend. What? Couldn't he tell that he couldn't talk back?

Or was he just that stupid?

_"Well...I'm going to bed. Good night, Omega. Sweet dreams."_

Yes. Sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams of making that voice choke with blood and cry in everlasting _pain_.

Yes, those would be very sweet dreams, indeed.

* * *

_"I don't know how humans can manage to keep themselves focused when they have so many inventions made just to distract them. Like television, or the internet." _

The first time X had tried having a real conversation with Omega, it was days later. Not that Omega could respond, but that didn't seem to stop him from moving up from the "Good morning, Omega"s that he chirped every morning to plopping down in front of his prison (if the dim flopping sound was in fact what he thought it was) and yammering on.

Did he ever run out of things to talk about?

_"And yet humans can make such amazing things! Once you wake up, I should show you some of the things I'd found. I don't know if you'd be interested, though."_

No. He probably wouldn't be. _Why_ would he be? It wasn't like humans were very interesting. Humans lived for 50 years, keeled over, and that was the end of it. And their flesh was far too easy to rend; not exactly fun playthings, if anyone asked him...

They were like squealy, flesh-covered pieces of popcorn that spewed blood when you squeezed them too hard.

_"I wonder if your creator did anything with you before he sealed you away? If he showed you the world before you were put in this thing?"_

He didn't know. And frankly, Omega didn't care. Didn't X have something better to do? Unless he wanted to let him out and let Omega relish in feeling his sparking innards against his palms, there was no reason for him to even be here.

_"And...I wonder if this was what I looked like, before Dr. Cain found me." _

...Oh, right. X had mentioned that he was like this, too, when they had first met. Not that Omega had been paying much attention at the time, or was paying too much attention _now_. If X's experience didn't have anything to do with getting him the fuck out, then what business was it of his?

That's right. It wasn't.

He was just talking to hear himself talk, and his processors were clearly made up of rocks.

X let out a sigh, and there was dull thump as something touched the front of his prison.

_"E-either way, don't worry. We'll get you out, soon." _

Omega sincerely hoped so. So he could shut X up permanently.

As the weeks went by, Omega had noticed that things fell into a routine.

Early in the day, things would start with the loud crash of music: energetic guitars and strong but melodic voices, singing about something-or-other that Omega hardly cared about in the lyrics. All he knew was that it was loud, it was ear-catching (it most certainly wasn't _unpleasant_; not like some of the other garbage X found himself listening to), and whatever sense of sleep-mode Omega had was tossed aside with a start, sometimes with so much processor whiplash that his head would ache.

Then X would say his "good mornings", before either shuffling out for several hours, or talking to him for a short time before finally leaving him alone for several hours. Omega thought they were hours, anyway; he would often slip in and out of sleep mode during this time, so time was of no consequence.

Either way, it was long stretches of silence followed by periods of excited chatter, as X recounted every small detail of his day to him. This ranged from how he found a pregnant cat and was helping a little girl take care of her until her kittens were born, to how he tried this-or-that human food and it was so good (or so awful, in the case of his much loathed fish. It was amusing hearing him sound like he was choking; it was as though he was receiving great physical pain just _remembering_ it). After such an enthusiastic report, X 'went to bed', leaving Omega alone until everything repeated the next day.

That is, until X started changing things up on him, adding a little detail to that rhythm of his.

"_He did not sleep all night long for thinking of his Lady Dulcinea;_" X said, "_For this was in accordance with what he had read in his books, of men of arms in the forest or desert places who kept a wakeful vigil, sustained by the memory of their ladies fair. Not so with Sancho..._"

Omega didn't know why X had decided to do it, nor could he have even questioned it if he wanted to. Just one day the idiot had sat down in front of his prison, talked to him about some book he'd read, and then read particular passages out loud. They were never long, mind, nor particularly painful...

It was more the question as of _why_. Didn't X have enough fun treating him like some sort of beloved family pet? Did he have to read to him, too?

He leaned back in his consciousness and let the words bounce off of him. Maybe if he ignored his reading with its rhythmic tones and easy pace, Omega could slip back into that abyss of nothing and phase out until the next day.

Maybe...

_"...I think...I'll stop for today."_

Wait, he was stopping?

_ "Sorry, I guess I just got really excited about this one; I'll read you something better next time." _

Odd choice of words...

Did X know he was getting bored? No, that was ridiculous. Omega couldn't see, much less speak. X may have been squishy and cared too much about everyone, but he wasn't a hacker. Annoying, yes. Dangerous, no.

Either way, it was strange.

With the slam of paper against paper (a 'paperback', his memory banks told him. Though the visual concept of that eluded him), Omega heard X move, a shuffle against carpet.

_"I'll be getting some sleep now, I think. Sleep well, Omega."_

...What the hell just happened?!

* * *

** _"Hold it right there, evildoer!"_**

_** "WHO DARES-?!"**_

...Omega wasn't sure which was worse: The strange, shrill voices that fluttered into his ears, or the ridiculous things that they were forced to say. At first, he had thought such antics had taken place inside the laboratory proper, and some spare side-effect of the mayhem could unleash him from his prison and end the miserable torture of being stuck in this static existence.

But no, that was not to be.

After around ten minutes of this phenomenon, he had realized that, no, this wasn't happening within the confines of the building. The explosions and clashing sounds were too synthetic to be accurate, to false to be real, and the voices too...charlatan-esque to be taken seriously.

This wasn't a battle.

_**"The power of young children's dreams burst from them as they compete against each other in this sacred shrine of education and competition! I will not allow you to destroy all these kids have worked on for this Sports' Day with your wicked ways!" **_

It was _entertainment_.

One of X's ideal forms of it, in fact, for reasons Omega could not understand. Nor did he want to.

_**"I am the flower that blooms in the night! The gentle wind that brings down the Flame of Justice from Heaven on her Cycle of Truth! I am PRINCESS RIDER!"**_

** _"You are, are you?! You won't be able to defeat me, little girl!" _**

_ "Good luck, Princess Rider!" _

Through what form of apparatus was X...observing? Listening to? Indulging in this...awkward farce that could loosely be called entertainment? How could X bring himself to listen to each of these insipid lines, cheering on this 'heroine of justice' with the childish glee of a human playing pretend on a playground?

Battles weren't like this. They weren't about speeches, long-winded exposition, and silly-sounding attacks; it was about blood, the sound of your opponent choking on their life fluids as they stared up at you with deadened eyes, the blade going further and further into their flesh...

_**"N-No! What can...I can't...go on!"**_

_ "Oh no...Come on, Hiroshi, hurry up! Princess Rider's in danger!" _

Oh, good. This...character was in danger. Maybe she'd end up dead, so Omega could stop listening to this garbage.

_ **"You're MINE!"**_

_** "JUSTICE FLAME...BURST!"**_

_** "WHO GOES THERE?!" **_

_"It's Prince Hiro! Good timing!"_

...Or not.

But it made sense, though; from even what little he cared to listen to, this was clearly aimed at those with a child's disposition and view of the world. Everything was solved neatly, evil was defeated by good, and everything was so stark in their alignment that if Omega was in fact able to see what these people looked like, he likely would have been able to tell on sight.

_**"Prince Hiro, you came!" **_

_** "Come on, Princess Rider, don't give up! Think about the children! The parents! The other people of this city!"**_

_** "...You're right, they're all depending on me! Thank you, Prince Hiro! Together, let's show this monster the real meaning of hard work and friendship!"**_

And X?

He was about as child-hearted as they came. Between his gestures of friendship, his sense of justice, and that _naivete_ that would one day get him into trouble.

Wait, would it? How did he even know that?

And barring that, why did he even care?

Fuck it, X was annoying, no doubt about it, and this..._thing_ he indulged in was one of the worst things in the history of things.

And Omega was certain this view of him would never change.


	2. Chapter 2

Time passed. Months, or maybe it was years? No, it was years. Omega was sure of that: the days seemed to mesh together, almost into one long string where he didn't know if he was awake or asleep. He would have perhaps thought it was like a dream, if he was eloquent enough, poetic enough, and gave enough of a fuck.

Even with that, there was still a quantifiable _something_ that brought them into a coherent whole. Seasons passed, X continued to talk to him every day, and even introduce Omega to things that he couldn't care less about (and yet he remembered all of those minute details anyway; damn his inability to do anything else but _listen_).

It was during the summer of his third year in the Cain Laboratory when he heard X truly _furious_ for the first time.

Annoyance? Moments like that were uncommon, but not particularly rare. Anger? Rare, but it was there.

_This?_ Once in a lifetime.

There was a slam of a door, and loud voices a couple rooms down. They were muffled, but the owners were clear enough: It was X and the old man.

...Arguing?

Omega didn't even know that they were capable of such a thing, with how they seemed to get along so well. And even when they didn't agree, X was so damn _reasonable_; whatever could have risen was always smoothed down to a debate within minutes (debates which, admittedly, Omega had grown to look forward to. Even if he didn't understand why they even bothered debating it in the first place). The fire was quenched before it could even spark.

But not this time.

Something crashed in the distance, and Omega's core coiled with tight rage; not at the source of the sound, but rather at something else.

At what?

Hell if he knew.

X let out another yell, louder this time, but only the words "I" and "wrong" came out clearly. The rest was a faint, jarbled mess. The Old Man was no better, nothing more than a loud line of gibberish in retaliation.

This should have fascinated him. Amused him, maybe. Perfect little X and Dr. Cain, yelling at each other? Giving in to rage and throwing aside their mature, reasonable natures? No debates, just screaming.

Screaming, anger, and the inevitable suffering that would follow.

But...

…

As odd as it sounded, Omega preferred X's warmer tones more. Even without hearing his words, he could already tell that the tone didn't suit him; it was wrong and out of place on a being who was able to spend an hour and a half gushing about a television show (whatever that was) that focused on the 'power of friendship' and how it could save the world.

* * *

_ "Hey, Omega..."_

It was a night just like any other. The night's book-reading had been completed (X had taken to reading Omega horror stories as of late, his trembling voice adding to the experience for reasons he couldn't explain), the dull thump of the tome hitting a nearby flat surface the only precursor for X's next words:

_"...Why do you think Reploids become Mavericks?"_

Maverick.

Just like every other time he'd heard it, the word struck Omega like a beam saber to the gut, sparking the back of his programming with an insistent touch.

Even before X had painstakingly defined it with his trademark long-winded bluntness, that word was familiar to him, for reasons Omega didn't understand. He _knew_ that word.

But no matter how many times he tried to figure out why, just like every other time, his systems rang up a blank.

_Damn it_.

_"What point is there in hurting humans? Why would they bother doing it?"_

Why did anyone perform any act of violence? The Catharsis, of course. The feeling of having someone under them, unable to fight them off as they exerted their will forcefully over another. Their moans of pain, the fact that once they attacked them, it was inevitable that the weaker, inferior humans would have to submit.

So simple, and yet it flew over X's head.

_"It's wrong." _There was a clear tremble in X's voice, and a wetness that Omega could recognize anywhere. _"But they're confused, right? Something happened to their programming, and they lost their sense of reason."_

...If that was what he wanted to believe.

_"What am I talking about? I know they're conscious of it. I just...I just..." _

X choked, and Omega's innards felt like they wanted to churn, even though they physically couldn't do so.

_"I just can't believe that anyone would do that willingly, you know? I..."_

Whatever X had wished to say faded out, the sounds of the occasional sniffle and tinny sob filling the air in its stead.

Being a sentimental sort, X wasn't a stranger to the act of crying; the first time Omega had heard him do it was two years ago (not long after they had 'met', in fact), after he saw a cat get 'run over' by a car, and X told him all about how he'd comforted the little girl who was its owner and even helped her bury it and perform some mock-funeral in her backyard.

Pathetic.

He was too damn _soft_.

Back then, as well as every other time after that (including now), the display of his sorrow and tears made his gut heat up to its boiling point, his livid mind shrieking with obscenities and promises of violence.

But to his surprise, it wasn't directed at the machine trying so hard not to be heard sobbing in front of him like a shamed child.

...No. Not at all.

Omega wanted to break out and grasp every Maverick he could find, crushing them with his bare hands until there was nothing but shaved steel and oily blood.

* * *

He couldn't see; that much was obvious. Everything around him was a black mass, identified by sounds and words that popped in his head to describe them. The rhythmic taps on the floor were 'footsteps', and the creaking thing as X came closer and further away from his prison was a 'door'.

Omega knew that he was able to see once. His optics were merely locked, his eyes closed and the world a gaping void for him, registered only by sound.

But what if he _could_ see?

He'd tried entering words in his mind, but only the flashes of images greeted him. When he entered 'book', there was but a rectangular thing with sheafs of paper sandwiched between a larger cover; When he entered 'window', there was but a portal to something further beyond, marred by sunlight and fluttering fabric; When he entered 'smile' he saw a pleasant, warm, and yet familiar face (that he couldn't identify, damn it)...

And then, experimentally, he'd entered 'X'.

All he could see were lowered eyes, glaring at him; a tiny, rigid body clad all in blue, his armor cracked and worn but his weapon still at the ready, shooting at him.

And yet, that _voice_ filtered through. That voice who had nothing to do with, couldn't have been the same one who was shooting at him, mouth open in a voiceless roar, trying to wish him death.

It was confusing.

It was disjointed.

It made no _sense_.

Rage and...another emotion that Omega couldn't identify ('relaxing'? No, that wasn't it. That was the result, but not the cause, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it, no matter how hard he tried) battled it out inside his systems, roaring passion and gentle calm crashing against one another until he wanted to thrash about. Wanted to scream. Wanted to just shut the images off and –

_"Omega?"_

The confusion disappeared at X's worried tones (worried? Why was he worried? What reason did he have to worry?), the images slinking back to his subconscious and his world falling into the blackness he'd grown so accustomed to.

X's voice wrapped around him, and Omega's mind grasped it, clutched it.

_ X...that's X. _

Regardless of the images that had assaulted him moments earlier, the association clicked in his head. Whoever that was, it wasn't X. And if it was, then it had to be another one with the same name.

There was no way that the young man who was his near-constant companion and that _bastard_ were one and the same.

There was just no way.

* * *

It had been a blessing: X had decided not to interrupt his...'sleep' with inane chatter.

For several days, nothing had been said at all, the area around him blanketed in thick stillness. It had been calming, at first. Omega was left with his thoughts, his rest, and his own anger at his situation that still gnawed at him as ravenous bugs on ripe flesh.

But then...

He wasn't sure when, but something inside him pulled.

Two, three, four days must have passed since the initial silence.

Where was everyone? There wasn't the familiar slamming of the Doctor and X working on something-or-other in the next room, nor was there the chittering excitement of the innocent mechanical being that categorized Omega's days and nights. It was as though the entire house was empty, abandoned...

Omega was alone again.

Wait. "Again"? Had he been alone before? Prior to the time he was shoved in this...this _thing_ and tossed to the wayside for whatever reason like a discarded toy?

...No good. He couldn't remember. The only thing that accompanied it was a thick haze of pain in his skull, which would have made Omega cry out if he was able to.

Where _were_ they? Where was X? Where was that annoying doctor?

If Omega could move, he would have shifted in his bonds, perhaps tried to wriggle out of them in his antsiness.

On the fifth day...

Omega heard the muffled slam of a door.

_"X, I __**told**__ you it would have taken several days!"_

That was clearly Doc Cain. The old man's voice was shrill, and yet somehow Omega didn't find himself wanting to physically wince at the frequency.

_"But it got done, didn't it? Even if it took a while, it was better than letting it sit there." _

_ "I could have emailed it to them!" _

_ "Remember the last time you did that? They lost the paperwork. Coming in person was the best way to assure that they didn't lose anything, and it all got done."_

_ "Somehow I don't think-"_

_ "I'm going to go into my room for a while. I'm a little tired."_

Was that a sigh? Yes. The Doctor had most definitely let out something that sounded like either a sigh, or a snort.

Familiar booming footsteps came towards Omega, and something loosened inside him when he heard the door slam, and X slump in front of the pod.

_"Sorry I was gone so long. Dr. Cain had to deal with some legal things, and the clerks kept losing the paperwork, so we went in person to make sure it all got done. It took a while, but it seems that we managed to do it. I hope you didn't worry too much."_

All he could feel was a mixture of relief and indignation at that voice filtering into his hearing equipment, but for the life of him, Omega couldn't figure out why.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two years ago:_

_Cain Residence_

* * *

"Dr. Cain!"

Perhaps bursting into the house wasn't the best reaction. Throwing the back door open (now built to be used to such outbursts, certainly, but the poor thing did nothing to him to warrant such treatment, did it?) and letting the falling snow flutter inside was something that a careless child did, after all. Really, unwanted water could seep through the cracks in the piles of machinery scattered to and fro (X told Dr. Cain time and time again that they needed to find a better place for them and clean up the mess, though...), and that wasn't even discussing the risks of slipping and falling due to the sudden slickness on the hardwood floors.

Really, he should have been more careful.

But X found himself hardly caring.

Not after what he saw.

He didn't care that he'd left a door open, and he didn't even care that his dark hair was dusted with snow and his blue flannel cat pajamas didn't fare much better.

At the very least, he knew to slow down once he got far enough inside; slipping and sliding on the floors and stomping around weren't exactly conductive to anything other than ending up face-first in a wall or scuffing up the floors. X had learned that one the hard way shortly after he was first activated, the spot oh-so-lovingly marked with black permanent marker courtesy of the doctor in case his ward happened to suddenly forget.

Trotting to a stop, X pushed Dr. Cain's bedroom door open. His optics adjusted to the darkness the moment it hit him, and he made out the silhouette of the bed and its lone inhabitant.

Not that his snoring couldn't have given his location away by itself, but no matter.

Insistent but careful hands shook the lump that hid under the sheets.

"Dr. Cain, please, get up!"

...And the man rolled over with a grunt. Perfect.

X shook him again.

Dr. Cain rolled over.

This process continued several times before the lump decided to do something other than flop about and actually _move_ under the sheets.

"Urgh...X?"

A bald head poked out above the covers and blinked bleary blue eyes at X. Even for his age, Dr. Cain was rather slight in stature (yet still taller than X by several inches, much to his chagrin), which was only made doubly apparent against his cape of blankets and the far-too-large plaid pajamas he always wore to bed.

X nodded.

The old man rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand. "What are you doing up, boy? You look like you got into a fight with a snowman."

Well, that was a good way to put it. Still, it didn't stop the tinges of red that splashed on X's cheeks.

"Look, I'm really sorry for waking you up, Dr. Cain, but this was an emergency."

"I have no doubt about that." At the very least, he was starting to sit up. X offered his hand, but the Doctor waved it off before doing the job on his own.

"Are you all right?"

"'M fine." A sigh. "So tell me about this 'emergency' of yours."

"I don't know how to explain it," X said. "I was just out for my morning walk-"

Dr. Cain groaned. "X, what did I tell you about going outside in your pajamas in this weather? And did you go out without shoes again?!"

X scratched his head, but couldn't deny it. It wasn't as though he _needed_ shoes in particular, and his synthetic skin didn't get affected like humans' natural skin did in extreme conditions, so what was the problem? "-Sorry. But anyway, I was about to head out through the backyard, when I found something lying there. Some sort of capsule."

_That_ got his attention. The sleepiness vanished from his eyes in an instant, growing sharp in the dim light.

"What kind of capsule?" Dr. Cain asked.

"The same sort of capsule that you found me in," X replied. "Well, not exactly the same; it looks different, and it seems to run on its own power source, but it has someone inside."

"Someone?"

"The occupant looks humanoid; I'm willing to bet he's like me—oh, here. Your cane."

Dr. Cain grunted his thanks as he took the walking stick and rolled the handle around in his withered palms.

"We don't know that for sure, X, and we shouldn't assume. We need to give whatever this is a full scan first."

"Do you want me to bring it inside, then?"

Dr. Cain closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. Let me take a look at it first."

"Okay."

"Start up my tea, and I'll meet you in the living room in a few minutes. Let me get dressed and wake up first before I go out there."

"All right, I'll start it right away."

X shot out of the bedroom so quickly, he almost didn't hear the doctor yell out behind him:

"_X!_ What have I told you about running in the house?! Especially barefoot?!"

* * *

Lo and behold, X's hunch was right. Not that they could remove the stranger from his prison, nor could they do anything but watch over him as the pod leaned against the wall inside X's bedroom.

But before they decided on a finite place to put him (leading them to decide on X's bedroom in mid-transport), they ran all the necessary scans: scans to test electrical pulses within, to see if the machine was still running; scans to check for subconscious AI activity (and how sophisticated), which not only yielded results, but fried Dr. Cain's computer within minutes; and scans on the gathered data (which X had to manually input through hard copy) to compare their new friend's AI makeup (what patchwork information they had on it anyway) to X's.

In terms of structure, it was close to identical, short of some snafus here and there. There were enough eccentricities in code to determine that at the very least, the two of them weren't built or programmed by the same person, though there were a lot of similarities in the framework, like a template.

Strange.

Who could have created him? And why? If someone had the technology to create someone so sophisticated, why did they drop him off in their backyard?

It was one of the many questions that plagued X's mind.

And then there was Omega himself.

For the several years that Omega had been in their care, very little outward progress was made. They hadn't figured out how to extract him from his pod (or how it kept its own energy, as though the energy cell filled itself). All attempts of linking with his consciousness through wireless channels had proved fruitless, as he didn't seem to have a wireless function (or if he did, it was offline).

X took all the time he could to talk to him, to maybe reach out and attempt to make contact through a more direct means.

That was where the only recordable progress could be noted.

"Hey, Omega. I'm back."

X closed his bedroom door with the back of his foot, holding his dinner tray with steady hands as he moved towards the desk, mere feet away from Omega's pod. He stopped midway, giving the face of his roommate a curious glance.

His face scrunched a bit, nose wrinkling and mouth pursing just slightly.

Question. Though from what X could tell, there was exaggerated distaste that could warrant a disgusted reaction. _What is that?_

"Sorry," X said with an apologetic chuckle, "Dr. Cain's still working, so I decided to eat dinner in here instead of bothering him. I made meat loaf with rice and cheese casserole today."

No response. Omega's expression had gone placid.

Oh, well. With a sigh, X walked the rest of the way to the desk and set his tray down before taking a seat. As a Reploid, it wasn't necessary for him to eat, but converting calories to energy through his simulated digestive system proved far more appealing than sucking down liquid energen. If he had large meals and slept regularly in the recharge bed that Dr. Cain had fashioned for him, he didn't need to rely on uncomfortable charge pods or ingesting something that tasted like (and had the consistency of) oily chalk to keep his energy up. X wasn't sure why his creator gave him the ability to eat, sleep, smell, and cry (among other things), but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Regardless of what purpose was intended when he was given these traits, he was all the more grateful for them.

As (hopefully) were other Reploids, perhaps even including Omega.

He most certainly reacted to external stimuli, at any rate. Sound, at first, and then, in the past three weeks, he'd started responding to smells (which X discovered after increased experimentation, bringing in objects that had granted reactions from Omega on repeated occasions with different connotations, to see if it was the scent itself he was responding to rather than something else), too. It had taken years, but it finally seemed like the lock on most of Omega's motor functions was starting to break away.

Maybe he would even be able to open his mouth and speak, or look around or have an open wireless channel at the very least.

But if he spoke, what kind of voice would he even have? Maybe a commanding tone, to match the strange air of pride and energy Omega conveyed even in the limited interaction they had. Despite his hair and beautiful delicacy of his features, Omega had that masculine, intense edge that demanded the attention of all who looked at him.

Either way, X couldn't wait until Omega started speaking. Maybe then their conversations could be more than the 1.2-way shams of 'conversation' that they had between one another for the past several years.

Omega knew everything about him, as X couldn't help but divulge everything to a willing ear.

But what did X know about _him_?

...Well, he liked horror stories; he enjoyed the smell of hot cinnamon buns, mint, and well-cooked meat; and he seemed to prefer music with fast and pounding beats. Omega grew angry when X cried (which never failed to make his core coil with embarrassment, confusion, and something else that X couldn't pinpoint); he hated the word "Zero" (the day that he mentioned Commander Zero was the most animated X had ever seen him, complete with bared teeth and even the tiniest hint of an attempt to struggle out of his bonds); and he had either indifference, annoyance, or mild distaste to everything else.

Needless to say, that wasn't much to go on.

X continued munching on meat loaf as his mind wandered, taking a moment every now and then to wash it down with his cup of mint tea.

Omega was so mysterious. From his appearance (Why was he wearing so little? X would imagine that it was awkward to wear lower parts that resembled human underwear more than anything else) to his means of arrival, nothing about him made logical sense.

But one day...

_X, where are you?_

The unsolicited instant message from a familiar IP popped up in X's periphery. He didn't even need to fade into himself to send a message back, continuing to eat, if not a little quicker:

X: _In my bedroom, Dr. Cain. You seemed busy, so I figured I'd eat in here. Is everything all right? _

Dr. Cain: _Oh, everything's just fine. I just had to catch a rat sneaking where it didn't belong. I swear, I should hire a damned hacker at this rate, just so I don't have to keep stopping my work to chase the bugger off!_

X swallowed his food and groaned, running a hand over his face.

_Again? _He sent, _Who is it that keeps hacking in? Did you get any pinpoint on him? His signal, IP, anything?_

Dr. Cain: _If I did __**that**__, I'd be calling the authorities right now! _

X: _All right, all right. Did you at least change your passwords? _

Dr. Cain: _X, I'm old, but I'm not daft! Of course I did!_ _At any rate, do you think you could come out here? You've been dodging it all day, but you're not ducking out of your diagnostic this time, X. _

Diagostics. That weekly ritual that forced X to lie down in that uncomfortable pod and hook up his every port in a way that made him feel embarrassingly exposed. Humans didn't have the equivalent, since they didn't have ports to hook up, but the closest thing he could find in the human medical world was a procedure for women, in which they exposed their most sensitive areas to doctors for internal examinations. X understood _why_ the procedure needed to be done: it not only checked X's body for abnormalities and potential threats, but also the gathered data helped with Dr. Cain's research.

But that didn't mean that X had to like it.

Swallowing the last of his food, he began to gather up his dishes.

_All right, Dr. Cain. I'll be out there in a minute, okay?_

Dr. Cain didn't respond; well, he was probably busy with something. It was understandable.

"Well, Omega," X stood, dishes in hand, and threw the pod a sheepish smile. "It's time for me to go into the torture device again. I'll be back in an hour or two."

...Wait. Did his head bob? Did he just _nod_?!

No, that had to be X's imagination. But he could have sworn...

_I'm probably just seeing things. _

Omega didn't move any more for the long moment X stared into his face. Shaking his head, X walked out of the room.

* * *

'Torture device', indeed. Regardless of whether one was a human or a Reploid, the monstrosity of a diagnostics pod that sat in the middle of the labspace with its protruding wires and connected monitors and printing terminals was an intimidating sight.

Still, regardless of how uncomfortable the process was, X couldn't argue with the results.

"Dr. Cain, I'm here." X called. His eyes scanned the scattered computer stations for the old man, but he was nowhere in sight. "Where are you?"

"I'll be out there in just a minute, X!" Dr. Cain called back from the direction of the adjoining server room. What was he doing in there? The hacker didn't try to break into the servers, did he?

"All right! Do you want me to set things up for you?"

"I already got things prepped while you were taking your sweet time getting here! Just strip off and lie down!"

Strip off.

X sighed and started pulling off his clothes.

For humanoid Reploids like himself, the process always included this intimate, embarrassing little detail. For animal-based models, their armored exoskeleton was irremovable, and thus wasn't separated from the main body. For X (and other humanoids), their birth armor was entirely removable, leading to two separate (but connecting) strings of programs that interacted with one another when the armor was applied. With the armor on, the Reploid gained additional external functions that they wouldn't have while armorless (in X's case, interchangeable weapons, added visual capacity, and shock protection), but their charge would wane much faster if they kept it on all the time. Due to the fact that the armor was an external module and worked on its own set of programs that acted harmoniously with the Reploid's essential programming, when running diagnostics and other procedures, it had to be scanned on its own.

At first, it had been permitted to wear human clothing during the process, but after cases of overheating and fires, it was ordained that for the safety of both the Reploid and scientist in charge, humanoids were to undergo the process in the nude.

_At the very least,_ X thought, _It's only Dr. Cain watching me._

Not that he considered his body particularly offensive or ahorrent; no, whoever built him had given him attractive features (something the town girls never ceased to tell —and fluster— him about), with a lean, toned figure. But a man could have his modesty, couldn't he? X was an uncanny facsimile of a human being, down to the most frivolous external detail; it was a natural thing to get squirmy under the scrutiny of another.

Folding his clothes over a nearby swivel-chair (_why did Dr. Cain insist on having these things in here? The wheels could get caught in the wires on the floor, or Dr. Cain could trip over them when he's not paying attention and really hurt himself!_), X crawled into the unpadded 'bed' of the pod. From there, the wires did most of the work themselves, the pins at the ends embedding into the microscopic ports on the sides of his legs, the center of his back, and both of his arms. The connecting cords hidden in X's ears had to be inserted manually to the two wired ports closest to his head, with a sharp squeeze to the earlobes sending them sliding out with a soft click.

X closed his eyes and tried not to squirm too much, willing himself to relax. If he didn't think about it, it would be over before he knew it.

"Good, X, you're already raring to go." He could hear Dr. Cain take a seat in front of the desk a few feet away, chair sliding across the floor.

"As ready as I can be," X tried his best to laugh, but it came out awkward and fake.

"I know it's uncomfortable for you, but just bear with me, all right, X? Lower your firewalls for me."

X input a silent command through his periphery, and something touched in the back of his mind. X couldn't describe the sensation with any other word than 'drafty', as his firewalls were lowered and his theoretical 'innards' left open.

"All clear."

The melody of fingers clacking on a distant keyboard was the only response.

"I'm starting the process now, X. It should be done in fifteen minutes."

_A quick-scan, then. _

With the sound of a final click and the hum of processors, X braced himself for the inevitable sensation of being invaded, like a tidal wave crashing against his insides and coating them with bubble bath. Gentle, but uncomfortable.

...and seconds later, when he felt something like an inky, corruptive flame coursing under his synthetic skin and severing all of his wires at once, his single agonized scream pierced the air and shattered the peaceful night.

* * *

If this had been a year ago, the sound of X's scream would have been the greatest melody that Omega had ever heard. Oh, the cadence! The volume! The youthful tone tinged with horror and pain! The undertone of a quiver in that solitary cry, the desperation, the seek for help!

Hell, even _now_, it was a sound to _behold_. Who knew that X could create something so beautiful, so pleasing to the ear?

An indescribable, pleasurable heat flowed through Omega's body, only to be quashed, cooled as quickly as it came with the icy shards of something else:

_Panic_.

Panic? Why-

Forget that. What was going on in there?! The lab was too far away to hear, and X and the old man were nothing more distant tones; short of the scream, Omega couldn't make anything out.

X was screaming.

X was screaming and _Omega wasn't the cause_.

_**Unforgivable. **_

He ignored the ping in the back of his head. He ignored the surge of _sensation_ and _rage _that trickled up and down his lifeless limbs.

All Omega cared about was what was going on that seemingly infinite distance away, and that he was caught in this _prison_.

Unable to know, understand, or do a goddamned thing.

* * *

_X! _

It was an unsolicited instant message from an unknown IP, flashing before his eyes right before Dr. Cain stopped the scan. The pain was cut off as though it had never been there at all, and the intrusion ceased. All that was left was silence, the blinking message in his periphery, and the sound of X's panting as he made a desperate attempt to cool his body off. Lying on his side and resting his cheek on the cooling steel of the pod, though, also granted some sweet relief. Anything to make his frame not overheat.

Biting the inside of his lip, X managed to send out a quick message, even as Dr. Cain forcibly removed every wire from every port, including the cords protruding from his ear canals.

_Who is this? _He asked. _I don't recognize your IP address. _

"X!" X let out a small oof as Dr. Cain flipped him to his back to check him over. As far as he could tell, he didn't have any external injuries, at least. "X, are you all right?!"

"Y-yeah." X wheezed, "I am now."

"What happened?!"

X shook his head with a sigh. "I...don't know. The second the scan started, my body felt..."

Violated. Penetrated. Like an electrical fire had been let loose under his skin, severing wire in turn before force-feeding them to him after being ripped out through a hole in his abdomen.

"I can't explain it." X finished. "Sorry to worry you."

Dr. Cain crossed his arms over his chest and let out an indignant 'harrumph'. "There's nothing to apologize for, X. You might have woken up half the neighborhood, but at least you let me know something was wrong! I'd rather have you give me a heart attack than watch you short circuit!"

X made the tiniest attempt at a smile. "Fair enough."

"Either way," the Doctor turned away and focused his attention to the hard copy that was still spilling from the adjoining printer. He fiddled with the sheets, shearing them at the perforated edges before stacking them in order next to him. "We've had quite the night. First the Hacker, and now _this_! And Sigma thinks that we just live quiet, uneventful lives! Hah!"

"Well, living as non-combatants _is_ quiet and uneventful in comparison to the sorts of lives that the Maverick Hunters lead..."

"Look at you, getting sassy on me." The printer stopped, and Dr. Cain ripped the last sheet from it. "Wait in here or lie down on your bed. I'll call Lifesaver up here."

"All right."

Dr. Cain was halfway down the adjoining hallway before X felt the familiar ping in the back of his head as a message surged into his periphery.

_...Who are you? _

Huh. X blinked; he had called his name, and yet he was asking who _X_ was? Wasn't that more than just a little bit backwards?

Strange. How very, very strange.

_ I should be asking you the same question, _X messaged him. _You're the one who contacted me. How do you know my name? _

Unknown IP: _Your name? _

X: _Yeah. You're the one who sent me "X!" just a few minutes ago. _

Unknown IP: _…You're X._

X: _...Yeah._

Who was this?

A hacker? Someone who connected to the wrong IP address? Someone who connected to the _right_ IP and didn't realize it? Random IP search wasn't unheard of, but rarely used in polite company, as most of the time it was the result of careless "Send to all in Range" (called "SAR") messages. Other times it was for...more malicious reasons, but if that message had contained a keylogger or virus, X would have felt it after the second response. If it was the case of SAR, though, that meant that the sender was close by.

As far as X knew, there was only one person in the house capable of sending such a message, and he was away from his terminal and out of the room.

Unless...

Oh, come on. There was no way. That was just ridiculous—

Unknown IP: _...You were screaming. What happened?_

X's core clenched, his head started to ache. Forcing himself upright, he leaned against the side of the pod for balance and panted.

Who was this person?! How did they know about a few minutes ago? The only people that would know about that would be X, Dr. Cain, and possibly Ome-

...No. No, it couldn't be.

Unknown IP: _Answer me! _

...Could it? Was it possible?

X slid off the pod with a single heave; his legs were weak as he reached for the swivel chair and grabbed his clothes.

How did his core feel so heavy and so light at the same time?

_Sorry, _X sent,_ Scanner went berserk; Dr. Cain's calling Lifesaver to come up and take a look at me. I hope I didn't worry you too much, Omega. _

What was he doing? There was a high possibility that he was wrong, or just making things up. Omega didn't even let out a wireless signal, and couldn't receive messages no matter how many times X had tried SAR on him! Or at the very least, he didn't give a response!

So what changed? What possibly could have changed to make him able to? If, of course, that was what it was.

And he wasn't wrong.

Unknown IP: _See to it that you don't, X. The last thing I need is to hear the old man's wailing because you were too stupid to take care of yourself. _

X's shirt was half-buttoned and his pants unzipped, but he couldn't hobble out of that lab and towards his bedroom fast enough.


End file.
